


To Kill Sherlock Holmes

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Bad Mood, Chasing, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Masturbation, PTSD, Pain, Scars, Sherlock is a soppy baby, Shower Sex, dislocated shoulder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could kill Sherlock Holmes, but he thinks after all he is keeping him around. </p><p>Involves a chasing, an injury on a bad shoulder, and comfort sex in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Kill Sherlock Holmes

John’s shoulder aches when it’s sunny. Maybe it’s because when he got shot it was 47ºC and the sun was shining with a fierce intensity and he somehow feels triggered, or maybe it’s just his damned luck.

For that reason he blesses London’s weather, always so cloudy, so rainy, so cool. But it’s been sunny for a week now and the temperature is starting to be really pleasant for being just the beginning of spring, and John’s shoulder aches.

Most of the time is just a little discomfort that hardly limits any of his movements but when it peaks, the pain becomes unbearable and he has to restrain any movement from his left arm, shoulder and neck.

And when John’s shoulder aches, the tremors are back. And that’s the part he hates the most. He usually asks for some days off, and Sarah understands, because no matter how little it aches the tremors are constant and he is basically useless.

Useless. That’s how he feels right now. He just wants a nice cup of tea but he can’t reach for the mug on the shelf. Anyway he doubts he could hold it without dropping it because this fit of tremors is being particularly bad.

So he just sits and waits for Sherlock. He hasn’t told him, but he is sure he knows. He has been three days now at home and he has been restless in his sleep; he definitely looks like a mess. Sherlock must have noticed but he hasn’t said anything. John wonders if it is because he thinks he will avoid talking about the issue or it’s just that Sherlock doesn’t feel the need to say anything. But that doesn’t bother John. He hates feeling this useless and having Sherlock Holmes worry over him would make it worst. He already feels like shooting someone so he prefers to keep Sherlock out of the whole issue to avoid any further problematic situation.

Even so, he wants Sherlock to come back home now. He needs a distraction. Reading and watching telly doesn’t work and he can’t type so he can just wait.

He looks at his hand and how it shakes. And he hates it so much he can’t put it into words. He closes his fist tightly wanting it to stop but his hand continues to shake. And his shoulder to ache. He has accepted this will happen the rest of his life and it will get worse with the years but now he wishes he could chop off his hand, arm and shoulder.

He hears the entrance door slam shut and blesses Sherlock for coming just in the right moment. He listens to the storm of steps up the stairs and the flat door opens. Sherlock hangs his long coat and rolls his sleeves up before he approaches John and kisses him hello.

‘How was it in the morgue?’

‘Fine, I found what I was looking for.’ Sherlock says without looking at John, making his way to the kitchen.

John sighs. He had hoped for a little story or a rant over some idiot he bumped during his procedures. But nothing. He shifts on the sofa and closes his eyes and prays for it to rain and storm and snow if it’s possible.

He doesn’t know for how long he prays but suddenly he feels Sherlock’s hand on his thigh before he hears his name. He opens his eyes and the detective has a steaming mug of tea in one hand and what seems an ice pack wrapped on a cloth in the other.

Sherlock smiles and leaves the mug and the ice pack on the coffee table. He kneels and reaches for John’s shirt and unbuttons it just enough to pull John’s shoulder out of it and places the ice pack over his scar.

‘John,’ he calls again ‘you can unclench your hand now, it must hurt forcing your muscles that way right now.’

John looks at his shaking hand and he realises, in fact, that he has been clenching it way too strong and his knuckles have gone white. He opens his hand and looks at Sherlock.

‘You clearly feel triggered by the warmth of the weather and the sun, so I thought cold would do for the better.’

‘Yes, it does, thank you.’

Sherlock takes John’s trembling hand on his and squeezes it. ‘Do you want the tea?’ John nods and gets the mug handed. ‘When it feels better you should get some sleep.’

John nods again and thinks that after all having Sherlock worry over him isn’t that bad.

 

 

 

*********************

It’s been the typical case. Sherlock deduced it in a matter of five minutes and it took one hour to find out the criminal’s position. But John thinks all the way through it that he should have stayed at home.

His shoulder feels better but it’s still sunny. He has been in ice packs every six hours and the peaks of pain are milder now, but his hand still trembles and his movements are limited now and then.

Still Sherlock insisted him to come. And John obeyed.

And now that he is running he regrets his loyalty towards the detective. He is running alone because Sherlock is much faster, not only because his legs are longer but because he doesn’t carry around a throbbing pain on his shoulder. And he hates Sherlock Holmes so much right now.

He stops and catches his breath. He has unconsciously moved his hand to press his shoulder to ease the pain. He looks around for any sign of Sherlock on the alley but he sees nothing.

And then he sees a dark figure approaching fast and before he can react the man is on him. He must have distracted Sherlock because he was coming from where he left. The man punches him hard on his cheekbone and John grunts but counterattacks faster than the suspect thinks and sends him to the ground.

The criminal literally growls in frustration, launches himself on his feet and pushes John against the wall with the ferocity of an animal.

John lands with his aching shoulder and sees white. His body slides down the wall until he is sat on the floor holding his left arm close to his body. He opens his eyes and realises the suspect is gone and he has been left alone. He groans and tries to incorporate but the pain on his shoulder is overwhelming. He tries to move his arm and the bolts of pain makes his breathing faster.

He tries to calm down his breathing and decides palpating the skin on his shoulder and notices a bump that shouldn’t be there. ‘Oh, fucking great! Now I got a dislocated shoulder, how perfectly convenient!’ He thinks and pinches the bridge of his nose trying to contain the urge to scream in anger.

He is going to kill Sherlock Holmes, and it’s going to be bloody.

He tries to pulls his phone out of his pocket until he hears steps and looks up. Sherlock is running towards him and he drops his phone and sighs.

‘John!’ He is panting and his hair is a mess. ‘John.Are you okay?’ Sherlock is frantically touching his whole body until he presses the shoulder and John cries in pain.

‘Fucking hell, Sherlock!’ John holds on his arm, closes his eyes and greets with teeth.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He bites his lips and frowns his brow. Sherlock voice drops small and he places one of his hands on John’s knees for comfort. ‘Your shoulder is dislocated, what happened?’

‘Our suspect. Got smashed badly against the wall.’ John breath catches and his eyes close tighter as a wave of pain makes his way through his tortured body. He grunts loudly. ‘I need some help here.’ He tries to laugh but Sherlock’s expression doesn’t change from worried.

‘I will call an ambulance.’

‘No. Wait.  _You_  put it back.’

‘What?’

‘I said,  _you_  put it back.’

‘No.’

‘Sherlock, I don’t want to a hospital, go through an examination- ‘ John closes his eyes and grunts when his shoulder protests again ‘and some radiographies when you can put it back.’

Sherlock hesitates for a moment.

‘Okay, instruct me.’

‘Thank you. Okay.’ John shifts and wincing he moves his arm until his elbow is folded, his palm touching his stomach. ‘Now, hold my wrist with one hand and my elbow with the other.’ Sherlock does as he is told and John nods. ‘Okay. Now rotate it outwards, slowly, please, Sherlock.’ The detective nods and takes a breath, and so does John while he reaches for Sherlock’s thigh and squeezes hard.

Sherlock starts moving John’s arm and he can feel how John squeezes harder on his leg because of the pain. John closes his eyes again and clenches his jaw.

‘Okay?’ Sherlock says halfway through the process. John just nods and he continues rotating the arm outwards. The army doctor grunts and squeezes on Sherlock’s thigh digging his nails in. He stops maneuvering and looks at John, who’s biting his lower lip and his eyes are shiny with still-not-shed tears. Sherlock’s heart skips a beat realising in how much pain his partner is.

‘John...’

‘No, continue.’ Sherlock just stares at John frowning, he doesn’t want to hurt him any more. ‘Sherlock continue!’

‘No!’

‘Sherlock, I said continue! You coward bastard!’

‘I am not a coward!’

‘Then just fucking do it!’

Sherlock rotates the arm less delicately this time until he hears a crack and he thinks he’s broken John’s arm, but John’s face is nothing but pure relief.

‘Okay?’ Sherlock says sighing in relief as well.

‘Okay.’ John’s voice is a whisper and suddenly exhaustion hits him. ‘Let’s get out of here, please.’

 

 

 

*********************

John is walking slowly and holds on his arm with his dear life. It is going to be sore for a week or so and in his case, the soreness will be combined with the agonic pain peaks and tremors that have been accompanying him for a week.

Sherlock is holding him by his hip and he can sense John is tense, not because of the pain, because he is pissed and most likely with him.

They get to Baker Street after a rather short cab ride. John gets up the stairs while Sherlock checks on Mrs. Hudson and tells her their little misadventure. He insists the sweet woman they will be okay and tells her goodnight.

He catches up on John. He is trying to get his jacket off and he looks like he is going to drop down wherever and sleep for twelve hours straight. Sherlock feels extremely guilty.

However, he helps John out of his jacket. ‘I shouldn’t have left you behind.’ He states.

‘No, Sherlock, you bloody shouldn’t have. But you did. As always.’ John takes a deep breath. ‘I need a shower.’ And he leaves.

 

 

 

*********************

Getting his clothes off is painfuller than he thought but when he is under the hot water he entirely sees it worth the trouble. He lets the water fall on him and warm all his muscles and feels the anger and frustration slip away with the steaming liquid.

He hears the click of the door and he knows he is going to have to share his little paradise. Sherlock steps in the shower without a word and hugs John from behind.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whispers into his ear.

‘You better be.’ Sherlock chuckles and John sighs contently and turns around to kiss his man’s lips.

Sherlock places his hands in John’s jaw and looks at him in the eyes. ‘I mean it, John.’

‘I know you do.’ He smiles at him the best he can right now and kisses him again. His right arm flies to the back of his stupid detective’’s neck and pushes him further to his mouth. Sherlock moans.

‘I didn’t want you hurt.’ He says between kisses.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Sherlock’s hands slip down his wet body and grabs his arse.

‘I’m sorry.’ He mumbles against his mouth.

‘You already said that.’ He is getting hard.

‘Just to be sure.’ Sherlock’s smart hands trace John’s hip bones and up to his belly. He caresses John’s hairs under his bellybutton to the base of his cock. John grunts. ‘Is it okay, now?’ He growls in his ear.

‘Yes, please.’ He holds strongly on Sherlock’s hair with his right hand while his left arm just hangs there like dead meat. ‘Just be a bit careful.’

Sherlock smiles against his lips and starts stroking his half hard dick. The water continues to fall over them making their bodies slipy against the other. He thumbs his head and John moans into his mouth.

He enjoys making John come. He enjoys doing this for him so he feels a warmness when John responds to his treatments. He strokes his length with his fist just with the right pressure and he can feel John’s abdominals contracting. All the way long they are kissing.

John tugs on Sherlock’s hair and whispers into his mouth ‘Faster’ and so does the detective. John starts coming undone, unable to keep up the kissing. ‘God’ he whispers and he presses his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder, grunting and moaning. ‘Close.’ He announces.

Sherlock quickens his stroking until John grips tighter on his curls and comes against his abdomen. He looks up at him with dazed eyes and a smile. Sherlock kisses him. ‘That was nice, thank you.’ He says to him and kisses his lips soft. His eyes close in sheer exhaustion and contentedness.

After all, he thinks he is not going to kill Sherlock Holmes.  


End file.
